


Reckless

by TheMadam



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Fluff, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:33:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21627655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMadam/pseuds/TheMadam
Summary: L wants to deny he is absolutely sick. He's also a fuccin weenie about it.Cw: puking/vomit
Relationships: L (Death Note)/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 111





	Reckless

**Author's Note:**

> Idk, just wanted 2 write fluffy comfort fic about a sick baby. Sick baby L. Would mother him in a heartbeat he is dumb little baby. 1 sicc frog boye. Thank u m goodnight.

It was sweltering in the room. Just absolutely sweltering. Beads of sweat dripped down your temple and one made its disgusting way down the back of your neck despite having pulled your hair out of the way. You'd had a feeling this was going to happen. L had decided to accompany you on a trip to the farmers market for a few things. He also has the unfortunate habit of touching things and putting his hands in or near his mouth. You had warned him he would get sick. He had said otherwise. He was absolutely fucking wrong. 

Exasperated, you dig through your purse for some napkins, using them to dab up your sweat around your face, neck, and even gave a small wipe under your armpits. Then you dug around some more for your emergency deodorant. Old Spice, it has never failed you. Afterward you push yourself away from the desk and stand up. You shoot a glance at L who appears to be _shivering_. How the hell. It's so hot.

You drag yourself over to the thermostat and turn it down to a more reasonable temperature.

"I absolutely cannot do it anymore, L. It. Is. _Boiling_." You whine. He doesn't tear his eyes away from the screen. You can't tear your eyes from him as you make your way over. He is clutching his knees and shivers rack his body. Without hesitation you reach out to the back of his chair and whirl him around to face you. His impossibly large, grey eyes are glassy as they meet your own. He hadn't been coughing. He hadn't been sneezing. He was shivering though. There's a flush to his cheeks that brought colour to his otherwise ghostly complexion. A bead of sweat seemed to make it down the side of his face unnoticed by him. You brush the hair away from his face and place the back of your hand to his forehead.

"Oh absolutely NOT, L." You start. He looks at you with a dazed expression. 

"What ever do you mean..." He murmurs in reply. Slowly, he twists his body to reach for his cup of presumably over sugared tea. He takes a gulp before placing it back down. 

"What ever do I- L, you are burning up. You are sick. I'm not letting you finish working today. Absolutely not." You say with a huff and lean over him to slam his laptop shut. He protests, but it's hardly sincere.

"I am not that sick. It is just a cold. A blanket and you not messing with the heat should make me well." He continues to shiver. You shake your head in response.

"No. You are going to bed."

"No. If I don't move it will be fine." 

"Absolutely _not_." There was finality to your statement. You hook an arm under him and hoise him to his feet.

"This is not a cold, L. This is the flu or food poisoning or something." You mutter in annoyance. Absolutely thick headed, dumb baby. A dumb little dumb dumb acting like he isn't sick as a dog who just ate a pound of chocolate. Still, he allows you to help hobble him to the room. You don't get very far though. He doubles over, grabs his stomach, and as he drops to his knees there is projectile vomit escaping him all over the carpet. You can see the bits of cake and frosting as you rush to grab a long forgotten and emptied bowl to tuck under him. There would still be a mess, but you were hoping to lessen it. With the bowl held out underneath him in one hand, you hoist him back up to his feet and drag him to the bathroom. He crumbles unceremoniously beside the toilet to continue the vomitting saga. It smells like sugary stomach acid and strawberries. You brush the hair out of his face as you dig through a drawer for a hair tie. You secure his hair back and exit the bathroom.

"Im not sick!" You mock, sticking your tongue out. It was more to yourself as you pass the mess he made in the main room. The faint sound of him heaving more trails behind you as you make your way into the kitchen. Watari seems to be preparing more desserts for the idiot so you place a hand gently yet firmly on his forearm. He looks at you with his old, tired eyes. 

"No more of that. L is sick as hell. He has made a mess on the floor by the couch. Where are the cleaning supplies?" Watari places the mixture he was working on down on the counter. He calmly nods at you. 

"There are some supplies under the cupboard, but do not worry yourself with that. I can take care of the mess later after tending to L." He pauses for a moment and you decide to butt in.

"While it's true you have taken care of him his whole life.... I feel like he may need a more maternal touch. Also, I worry you won't be able to say no when he asks for comfort foods." You reply, as softly as you can. Watari raises his head for a brief moment, contemplating letting you have it. He decides against it, probably sensing the mother bear in you. Instead, he opts for a bow as he gathers cleaning supplies and exiting the room. 

You make your way to the cupboards. Grabbing one tall pint glass and a mug. Digging in the tea cabinet, you're able to find some peppermint tea. You place the bag in the cup and the kettle on the stove at a medium-high heat. Then you make your way to the fridge with the pint glass, plopping in a few ice cubes and filling it with water. You make your way back to the bathroom where L is.

L is leaning on the toilet, his head on his arm. He looks absolutely miserable as you lean down and place the glass of water next to his other hand.

"Hey..." you speak softly, placing a hand on his back and rubbing soft circles into it.

"There's some water by your hand. Please have some. Small sips." He gives you a shaky nod as he grasps the glass and brings it to his lips. For once, he listens to you and only takes small, gentle sips. 

"Good, good. Im going to set up the room. When I come back do you think you will be able to stand?" He silently raises his hand and gives you a thumbs up. You grab some towels and make your way out of the room. As you get to the bedroom, you move the trash can to the side of the bed. Then you lay the towels over the pillows. You contemplate what to do with the bedding before deciding on folding half to one side of the bed. It's going to be a sweaty battle of hot and cold for him for a bit. He will want to be able to cover up or push away the blankets at a moments notice. Once the bed is set up you make your way back to the kitchen. The water is steaming, but not quite a boil. You turn off the stove and pour the hot water into the mug. The smell of peppermint fills your nostrils and you let it steep.

As you make your way back to the bathroom, you make eye contact with Watari. The two of you give each other a silent nod, but you do mouth a 'thank you' at him as well. He returns to cleaning the carpet. L gives you the saddest look you've ever seen on him as you walk into the bathroom. Being sick really has a way of making people feel like children again, L is no different. You lean over and grab some toilet paper to wipe off his mouth. Then you hold it to his nose.

"Blow." He complies, no contest. You toss the tissue into the bowl and flush. L has forced himself onto wobbly legs and you tuck yourself underneath him for support. The two of you stumble your way to the bedroom. L crawls into the bed without fuss, laying on his side with his head on is hand and eyes screwed shut. You dim the bedside lamp and kneel down. 

"I'm going to bring you some peppermint tea and more water. I'm not putting any sugar into the tea. I'm sure you've learned how awful it is to puke up sweets just now." He gives you an exhausted nod in response. 

"The peppermint tea will help you with your nausea. Again, small sips. And drink your water. You've lost a ton of electrolytes. You're _not_ going to like what I bring you to help with that. But we will approach that later. You need to rest first." He seems to be only capable of nodding. It's odd to see him so quiet and miserable outside of his depression pouts. Still, it breaks your heart and you want to do everything you can to make him feel better. You give his head a gentle pat before retrieving the goods from the kitchen. 

When you return to the bedroom, L hasn't moved an inch. He is still shaking and you wrap the blankets around him more. A genuine whine escapes the back of his throat and you feel a lump in yours. 

"My skin hurts." He mumbles. 

"I know, L. I know. It's those gosh dang electrolytes. I'd bring you the remedy now, but it would be fruitless with your stubbornness. Please, just try to sleep." He tosses in protest at that. Wiggling around trying to find comfort and warmth even though he's absolutely overheating.

"I wouldn't mind it now if it meant not feeling this pain."

"You're not going to like it at all, L. It will help your stomach, but I know you will want to puke just based on taste." 

"What is it?" You pause for a moment. Not sure if telling him will do you any good later when you try to make him drink it. Either way, he is probably going to protest it.

"It's.... pickle juice." 

"No."

"... Yes."

"I'm not drinking that."

"It will seriously help, L."

"No."

"Yes."

"....."

With a sigh you climb over him into the bed. He whines again at the movement. You remember being sick and how everything just made you feel worse. He'd probably rip your head off if he had the strength. You sidle up next to him and reach for his tea. 

"Please try to sit up and have some of this tea. It'll help your stomach." He makes no motion to follow your direction. You quietly let your head flop against the headboard.

"L.... hun..." He cracks an eye open and looks at you as you say that petname. Confusion evident in his exhausted stare. You give his head a gentle scratch and he pushes himself up just a bit. It's not quite a sitting position but he won't choke when he tries to take a sip of the tea. He takes the mug from you silently.

"Thank you. I'm just trying to help you, sweetheart." He chugs the glass and you don't have it in you to say anything about it. He hands it back to you and you place it on the bedside table. Without thinking about it, you scoop him into your arms, allowing him to rest his head on your stomach. There's no denying he enjoys the comfort and warmth you are providing. He soaks it up like a sponge. You place your hand on his back and give him gentle rubs. He lets out another sad whine. 

"I know...." You coo. He is a human after all and it was bound to happen. His lack of precaution is a little astounding sometimes. He is but a man, leaving the home with no hand sanitizer or extra layer to protect him from the outside world. Absolutely reckless. Still, you were on comfort duty. All his needs were being met as much as possible while he rides out the wave. He wiggles and tosses at your side. One second he's too hot and the next he's freezing. You just let him stuggle to find comfort since there isn't much else you can do. 

"I hate this." He says with a huff.

"I know. Being sick absolutely sucks." 

"I might throw up again and I really don't want to...." The apprehension is evident in his voice as he leans over to the side of the bed with the trash can. He stops moving for a moment and you're waiting for it. It never comes though. He simply continues to lay there and you peer over at him. He's back to eyes screwed shut and shivering. A clear attempt at willing himself to not puke.

"Skin hurts." He mumbles.

"I can go get that remedy."

"No. I mean it. I'm not drinking that."

"Then don't complain about your skin hurting."

"....."

"....."

"I'll try it. The peppermint tea helped my stomach a bit." You have to chuckle at that. He sits himself up against the headboard, wrapping himself tightly in the blankets as you exit the room. You make your way to the kitchen and search for a shallow glass. After finding one, you pop open the fridge to find a sad little jar of pickles. They hardly got touched, but were purchased for you when you requested a sandwich a few weeks ago. You unscrew the lid and pour just a little over two shots worth of the brine into the cup. Watari seems to materialize behind you and it gives you a fright.

"Be careful not to get yourself sick hanging around him." He says warmly.

"Oh, I'll do my best. We are all at risk though now with his lack of attention to his body. I think it should be ok though." You make your way out of the kitchen, cup in hand. L looks pensively at said cup and you sit at his side. You hold it out to him and for a long minute he just stares. The chills have returned and he looks so exhausted.

"You asked to give it a try. If I sit here any longer with my arm out, it might just fall off." He looks you in the eye with disgust. At a snails pace he digs his arms through the blanket mess and tentatively takes the cup from your hands. He brings it to his lips and you note the moment the smell hits him. He curls his lip in disgust and gives you an apprehensive head tilt.

"This can't be good for me." He mutters with chattering teeth.

"Quite the contrary. It will help you a lot. Especially with the skin pains you are feeling. It may even settle your stomach more." You reach out and brush his hair from his face. The hair tie seems to have been lost amongst his tossing and turning. A good soldier who will not be forgotten. He seems to be stalling.

"You've already thrown up, L. Worst case scenario you have to do it again and at this rate you're already bound to. If you won't drink it, that's fine. But I wouldn't give you anything that would harm you. I promise." You give a small clump of his hair a little squeeze and gentle shake. It satiates your desire to rip his head off. He presses the glass to his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

"If this is the end.... It was mostly nice working with you." He mumbles around the glass before tilting it back. His face scrunches as he swallows and he swiftly places the now empty glass on the bedside table. 

"That was fucking foul." 

"It's pickle juice and it is delicious. You just have the taste buds of a 6 year old." You giggle and clasp his face in your hands. He looks at you incredulously. Gently, you lean forward and kiss his sweaty forehead.

"Will...." He starts as he scoots down back into a laying position, wiggling out of your grasp.

"Will you lay with me again...?" 

"Of course, hun." You murmur and crawl into the bed next to him. His shivering has ceased for a moment as he curls up into your arms. You rub his arms and his back, petting his hair every now and again. A few moments pass as the two of you lay in silence.

"I didn't die."

"I told you you wouldn't."

"My stomach and skin hurts less, but I still feel hot."

"Your fever hasn't quite broke, but Im glad the nausea has gone away."

"Mm."

A few more moments of silence between you two while you caress him. 

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, dear."

"I won't have to do that again, will I?" He sounds like a child as he asks such a thing.

"That depends, but we can probably stick to chicken noodle soup when you can eat again."

"No. I'd much prefer ice cream."

"Uhm... I'm sure you would, but no. I call the shots now. Don't even think about asking Watari." He lets out a huff, but it's hardly sincere. You softly hum a tune that you can't remember the words to or where it came from. It's gentle and quiet and you give him a gentle squeeze. When you look down at him, he finally looks at peace. His messy hair sprawled out over your chest and the blanket. His mouth open as he breaths heavily and his eyes closed shut softly. You take in the sight, pushing away the bits of hair plastered in sweat to his cheek and forehead. His eyelashes look unfairly long and there's soft movement behind his lids. You let out an exasperated sigh. There's a reason you don't want kids, but L? You could baby him until the end of time. Perhaps him getting unreasonably sick wasn't so bad. It gave you an excuse to cuddle him all hours of the night. It will be disappointing when he's all better again and back to his insomniac ways. Until then though, you continue to hum softly and play with his hair, watching him rest and regain his strength until the morning light fills the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Pickle juice is SERIOUSLY the tits when you're sick. I found out this lit remedy when I had severe food poisoning a few years ago. I encourage you to remember this the next time you get the flu or are getting over food poisoning. Also, sorry I have such cop out endings lmaooooooooo. I am not pRoFeSsIoNaL writer


End file.
